


light me up and i light you brighter

by corrupted_voracity



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Attempt at Humor, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Language, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Photo Shoots, emphasis on attempt, goro and ren are models and both know it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29187777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corrupted_voracity/pseuds/corrupted_voracity
Summary: A chance encounter with a modeling agent causes Ren to pursue a career path he would have never thought of before.It only takes a while for him and Akechi Goro, another aspiring model in the ruthless fashion industry, to meet.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 96





	light me up and i light you brighter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LovelyLotus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyLotus/gifts).



> A Fashion!AU for the absolutely wonderful [Lolo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyLotus/pseuds/LovelyLotus). Happy birthday my love! You deserve all the nice things in the world.
> 
> (I apologize for not being able to push this out in one go. At this rate it might even be three chapters instead of two... haha _*sweats*_ )
> 
> A big thank you to [Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Your_Neighbourhood_Cat/pseuds/Your_Neighbourhood_Cat) for helping me with the outline!
> 
> I hope you enjoy my desperate attempt to convey all the research I did into this AU ♥

Ren’s fateful career begins with blonde pigtails and a ruined designer shirt.

The coffee he usually enjoys at the counter of LeBlanc is in a portable cup in his hand, dangerously swinging with each hurried step he takes. It's just his luck that the assignment he kept procrastinating in favor of testing out the new beans Sojiro just recently bought came back to bite him in the ass in the worst possible way.

Ren still finished it, but at what cost?

He _overslept._

Didn't hear the alarm, didn't hear anything that would have saved him from involuntarily setting a new record in getting dressed and ready. Ren only had time to shoulder his bag and pour his breakfast into a portable cup he managed to find in the last second before he bolted out of LeBlanc, leaving a stunned Sojiro behind who probably thought he was already at school. 

Ren knows he's going to get an earful later, but there are more important matters at hand for now - such as trying not to drown in the maelstrom of people rushing towards their respective trains. 

He either isn't doing a very good job at that or the negative karma he accumulated over the years suddenly decided to hit him all at once today because the moment Ren rounds a corner, he abruptly bumps into something hard and solid at the same time.

Given by how harshly he lands, he must have run into a bull of a man. His glasses and the pitiful remnants of his coffee are now lying a few feet away from him, too.

Both useless and ruined. Ren has never related more. 

A quick look upwards reveals that it's actually a _woman_ he bumped into. One that’s already screeching at the large, brown stain that’s expanding rapidly at the center of her white dress shirt.

 _White expensive_ _you-will-never-be-able-to-afford-this designer dress shirt._

Fuck.

Ren hastily stands up, hopes he didn’t _burn_ her on top of ruining her clothes, and stumbles over apology over apology when the woman suddenly stops attracting more attention with her indignant yells by stopping to squint her eyes at him.

Before Ren knows it, the woman is practically right in his face, scrutinizing him like he didn’t just splash hot coffee onto her and instead offered her some kind of deal that is just shady enough for her to consider it. 

Ren's words die in his throat. In this proximity, he can practically smell the amount of zeros in the sweet tingle of her perfume which just confirms his panicked deductions from earlier. 

“Your face is amazing,” she murmurs. Fascinated, almost awe-struck. “High cheekbones. Perfect facial structure. Tell me, do you use makeup?”

Ren blinks to convey his confusion. 

_What?_

He has no idea what’s going on or what she’s talking about, but his brain manages to process the last part of the sentence just enough for him to shake his head in denial. 

The woman’s bright eyes narrow. Envy? Judgment? Curiosity? The only instance Ren felt this helpless was when he tried getting to the Ginza line for the first time in his life. 

“That means your eyelashes are natural _and_ your skin is flawless. Amazing," the blonde woman continues. 

She rants about more things that have Ren even more confused. At this point he's convinced he's more fluent in chemistry and mathematics than in whatever language the woman is talking in. 

Some tension leaves him when the woman finally backs up a little, and it only now occurs to Ren that she's frighteningly unfazed for the fact that he spilled his very hot cup of coffee onto her. 

At least that means she isn’t really hurt?

Her blue eyes rake over him in a clinical sort of way that has him feeling strangely exposed despite the layers of clothing he's wearing.

Ren self-consciously straightens his back and remembers in the same instance that he hasn't ironed his blazer for a few weeks now.

He feels like crying.

_What a perfect first impression._

The woman taps her chin with a perfectly manicured nail, still examining him from head to toe. “How old are you?”

Something in her tone compels Ren to answer.

“S-seventeen.”

“Not a child, not a man. You’re already taller than average, but will most likely still grow. Perfect.”

A smile so razor sharp brightens her face that Ren thinks she skipped breakfast and just found it in him. 

So he averts his eyes and stares at the evident stain on her front instead because the reminder of his failure is absolutely better.

Now that he’s also taken a closer look at her pencil skirt and blazer and heels, she really, _really_ screams expensive – god, how is he going to make this up to her? Even if it was an accident? What if she sues him? Ren doesn't have that much money, and even if Sojiro would pitch in-

Ren clears his throat awkwardly, hoping the building panic isn't evident in his next words. “Uhm, so how can I-”

“Compensate by calling me,” she chirps, and then produces a card out of nowhere to press it into his hand. The woman flicks one blonde pigtail back, sassily. “God knows I already have three of these shirts in my closet anyway.”

Ren reflexively turns the card to read it.

Takamaki Ann, model agent, some more info, a number, working for… Vogue?

She’s gone by the time he looks up to question her about it.

_Huh._

Ren must have hit the ground harder than he thought.

* * *

Two days later, Takami rambles and rants about his future like she’s reading the pages of an already written book.

A career in the modeling industry.

Fashion walks if he’s interested. Magazine covers, editorial shoots, a whole fashion _line_ he’ll get to represent. 

_Vogue._

“Though I can’t book you if you have no experience, sweetheart,” she says at the end of it all. It's the first time she took a breather that lasted longer than half a second. “Not even my connections can do that.”

Ren originally called the number because he anticipated a conversation that would confirm his suspicion of this being a prank or a trauma he can start forgetting, but the way she talks so confidently and effortlessly about everything makes him re-evaluate that thought.

She isn't actually a model agent working for Vogue, right?

Takamaki laughs as if she heard what just went through his head. “Trust me, sweetheart. Get into modeling. You have potential. I recognized it the moment I saw you. And when two or three years have passed and you got a decent book, contact me again.”

Book?

Ren thinks it’s ridiculous.

"Ahh, don’t worry, I won’t just throw you completely into the cold water! I’ll make an exception just for you and give you my private number to contact for pointers. How does that sound ?”

Not really reassuring, if you were to ask him, but for some reason Ren agrees anyway.

The same evening, he shows Futaba the card and tells her about the strange encounter and even stranger phone call.

Seeing her raised eyebrows and hearing his own words, Ren realizes how surreal it all sounds by the end of it.

Growing embarrassed, he stands up and reaches for the card in Futaba's hands to throw it into the bin, only for Futaba to yank her arm out of his reach with a loud, protesting sound that doesn't stop until Ren sits back down onto her bed again. 

Grinning from one ear to another like she just figured out a master plan, Futaba pulls up different sites on all of her monitors. 

“I looked into her while you were talking. She’s a former model, but now acts as a legit agent for Vogue in Japan. She scouts people and negotiates trades between all the fronts in the industry. The middleman, so to say. Or middlewoman?”

Futaba shows him some older shoots Ren would have probably recognized if he watched more TV or actually looked at the magazines his classmates always fawn over. 

Takamaki’s a gorgeous woman - he already saw that when he bumped into her, despite being distracted by the unfortunate circumstances of their encounter.

It’s hard to not take in her striking foreign features, so openly showcased in a rather expressive hairstyle and a confidence to match.

In another universe where Ren is straight and Takamaki isn't at least ten years older than him, he would have probably tried flirting with her. Emphasis on trying. 

“Modeling, Futaba?” Ren murmurs, frowning. “I don’t know.”

He goes back to lay down fully on her bed. It all sounds so unbelievably far-fetched. The thought of him being plastered on billboards and fashion magazines is admittedly appealing, but it's a naïve fantasy people entertain only in their childhood. The fewest craft reality out of them.

Also, him and his lanky frame and awkward expression? Ren's pretty sure he's the complete _opposite_ of model material.

“Me neither,” Futaba curtly chirps and spins around to face him. “But only because it was such an obvious career option.”

“What do you mean by that?” Ren can't help but ask, confused. 

“I took your beauty for granted, Ren!" she explains. Her eyes are as wide as saucers and her next words come slow, as if she's still wrapping her head around them. "Oh man! Why didn't I realize that earlier?”

Ren's face heats instantly. He resists the urge to cover his evident mortification with his hands.

“Futaba! What are you talking about?"

The girl in question shakes her head. “Deny it all you want. It’s _true_. You and Sojiro are the only persons I see on a daily basis, and Sojiro doesn’t count because he’s old.” Futaba groans in realization. “Of _course_ I’d get used to it.”

Ren’s an orphan – his parents died early in a plane crash, leaving him with only vague memories of persistent loneliness. Sojiro apparently knew him beforehand because his parents were friends with Futaba’s mother, and decided Ren’s situation was pitiful enough to take him under his wing.

Ren never really grew out of his shyness. Stayed at the attic instead of properly moving in with Sojiro.

He spent most of his free time coped up in LeBlanc, but it was exactly what Sojiro’s daughter needed to come out of her shell – a quiet companion that simply listens.

Not attempting to reprimand her, not trying to solve anything, but rather to understand and sympathize. As the years went by, Ren slowly helped Futaba out of her depression over the suicide of her mother, becoming closer to Sojiro in the process, too. Futaba’s maybe grown a bit too attached to him, still refusing to see other people for longer than absolutely necessary, but her condition is a far cry from how Ren had met her.

Their bond is like tentative snow, pure and quiet.

Nowadays, Futaba still only takes online lessons due to her persisting social anxiety, and it's the reason why she's able to come up with such an argument in the first place. Ren would point out she technically sees more than enough faces aside from his and Sojiro's because of that, just on a digital surface, but figures it'll most likely end up in a pointless debate that won’t get them anywhere. 

Futaba does another unnecessary spin that makes a small part of him want to kick her wheels away just to see her faceplant into the floor.

“Believe me when I say you’re already stupidly pretty,” Futaba enthusiastically rambles on, gesturing wildly with her hands. “I forgot how bland people are because you’re around me most of the time.” She then gasps, offended. “Ren. You raised my _standards_ for how humanity looks and I didn’t even realize it until now. How will you take responsibility?!”

Now Ren’s cheeks are positively _burning_.

She’s obviously exaggerating for his sake, but he also knows she wouldn’t feed him empty words just to momentarily overcome his insecurities.

It’s true that Ren has some sort of cold prince reputation in Shujin academy. Plenty of girls and some boys fawn in secret over him, but never approach him. They don’t treat Ren unkindly - people are just wary of his quiet nature and unorthodox family.

Anything that doesn’t fit the standard in their books is foreign and to be avoided.

It’s why Ren has never really made any friends, instead choosing to keep to himself. Heck, he didn't even feel the need to.

And while most people would perceive it as lonely, it doesn’t bother him in the slightest - he simply grew used to it, learned to find comfort in silence, and whenever the need for social contact _would_ arise, Futaba, Sojiro and the occasional patron he’s warmed up to are more than enough to sate that. 

As if sensing his growing unease, Futaba rolls over. With nifty fingers she steals his glasses - newly bought because his old ones had been sacrificed for Takamaki’s encounter. 

Futaba makes a show out of evaluating his face with her hands, and Ren honestly doesn't get what everybody is seeing in him when the images that greet him in the rare occasions he stands in front of the mirror fit the definition of _average_ down to the dot. 

“God, Ren. You’re good looking with your glasses and hot without," Futaba says, slowly rolling back towards her desk without breaking eye contact. "Stop wallowing in your self-esteem issues. Cut your bangs, get a little more sleep, straighten your back and back _bone_ and you won’t even need casting.”

Ren groans in response. Futaba’s already learned some terminology, which is a sign she’s going to get invested.

“Just do it,” Futaba sighs, as if she’s talking to a stubborn child that refuses to eat its food. “There’s no harm in trying, right? Do you even know what you want to do after your graduation?”

Ren doesn’t. He thought about taking over LeBlanc if Sojiro lets him, and while the notion warms his belly, it’s not filling him with much satisfaction.

Doesn't scratch that _itch_ inside of him. 

Like he can do more than just serve coffee until the end of his days, hoping for a cute boy to stumble by that’ll take an interest in him.

If Ren were to describe his future right now, a big question mark in the middle of a dark and terrifying sea would probably depict it perfectly. 

So maybe Ren could really just… test it out. See how it goes.

It’s not like he has to throw high school or his side job as a florist away for a short experiment that'll at least give him some sort of life experience everybody needs when growing up.

Futaba breaks out into a squeal that rattles his eardrums when he nods, and a part of him already regrets the decision.

“Great! And don’t you dare throw Takamaki’s card away – actually, let me keep it. I know you might do it anyway because you’re a weird mix of pessimistic and optimistic.”

* * *

While Ren is busy preparing for his upcoming finals, Futaba takes it upon herself to research everything he needs to do. 

They have a low cost photo shoot Ren pays with some of his earnings. He needs a whole day to get over his initial anxiety and take the photos he needs – casuals, beauty shoots, even one in swimwear, as embarrassing as it is. Futaba insists he needs them though, so Ren grits his teeth and tries not to feel overly self-conscious as he poses for the camera. 

Seeing his awkward fidgetings and clear discomfort, his photographer takes pity on him. Attempts to make small talk to relieve some tension and gives him a few pointers Ren clings to like a lifeline. Seeing as this is his first time doing something like this, he at least wants to perform it like…someone who _isn't_ doing it for the first time, yeah. 

And in the end, Ren doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful towards his past self for making light workouts in his attic a regular habit alongside with his natural preference for easily digestible food and vegetables.

Futaba immediately emails Takamaki the results. 

“You’re adorable, sweetheart. You also look like a damn amateur,” she tells him, all in one breath. “Especially because it’s absolutely not necessary that you took a photo shooting. Did a google research tell you that?”

Futaba surreptitiously coughs in the background.

Takamaki sighs. “You could have just asked me. But…. you’re a _good_ amateur though. Your body doesn’t do what your brain wants yet, but your eyes tell a different story. Well done, sweetheart. The effort alone accounts to something. You’ll land a hit in no time.”

With the help of Futaba and Takamaki and more guilty internet researches they keep hidden since they don’t want to grow too dependent on the model agent, they create Ren’s first portfolio – showcasing him in simple clothing and natural looks. Barely any make-up on, swimwear and some weird commercial shoots included they threw in at the last minute. 

Ren mails and physically sends his portfolio to some agencies in Tokyo and other, bigger cities, but he also ends up taking trains to casting calls because Futaba urges him to do it in spite of his hesitance. 

“Asian agencies are different from their European or western counterparts. They usually cover travel expenses. If they like your work and invite you, you only have to worry about time and clothes.”

To summarize, casting calls are a horrible experience. 

And despite what everybody told him, Ren gets so many declines that he kind of forgets about the whole thing in the span of two weeks. 

He isn’t even really crushed about it because he had low expectations in the first place. A modeling career is still unbelievably unrealistic, so Ren didn’t bother nurturing high hopes for it. 

Media just makes it more glamorous than it actually is. Ren is more than aware of that fact.

Futaba is sad in his stead, grumpily stomping through LeBlanc and her room whenever he’s over, and even though Takamaki tells him not to give up and insists on being able to pull some strings, Ren lets the whole modeling agenda slip off his mind for the moment.

He’s currently having his hands full with finals too. There isn’t really much time for thinking about anything else if there are assignments to complete and formulas to memorize until his brain knows variables and and facts and complicated procedures only, having shoved everything else aside.

Ren is deep into the studies for his last exam when _thunder_ runs up the stairs of his attic, and he only has a split second to brace himself before Futaba flings herself at him, nearly throwing him out of the chair in the process. 

“You got booked!!” she yells so loudly into his ear that she needs to repeat it two more times because of how much Ren’s ears ring.

“Booked?” Ren parrots, staring at her sparkling eyes.

It takes a while for him to connect the term to modeling and not to the literature he needs to consume. “And- how exactly do you know?”

“Of course I continued sending your shoots to all over Japan when you stopped! And I already looked the agency up – they’re legit, Ren. In Shibuya too. A few pages for a catalog of a new brand. Better than what most would start with. That reminds me – did you start on your social media accounts?”

Why isn't he surprised?

Ren shakes his head. Futaba and Takamaki told him to, but he immediately forgot it only a day after.

Her gaze turns hard and determined. It's the same look Futaba wears whenever she's about to face the final boss without having saved beforehand. 

“Go do that right now.”

Ren gains an accumulated amount of 127 followers on his first day, and that only thanks to a picture where the top half of his face is cropped out, showcasing a soft smile directed at a freshly brewed mug of coffee.

* * *

With his graduation behind him, the next year is a rush.

Ren’s never been confident – maybe with Futaba, and when he’s at work in LeBlanc or Rafflesia. He regularly flinches at casting calls, grows absurdly self-conscious and nervous when he feels other applicants eyeing him with barely disguised disdain at times, even if it is mostly due to the competitive nature of such appointments. 

_Foolish newbie._

But he learns early on that the best method of overcoming it all and coping with it is not achieved through shutting everyone and everything else out, but rather to consciously take it all in, to see their eyes and the hidden desires beneath - especially when it comes to the clients. 

Ren needs to adapt, slip into the same skin he dons for the customers whenever he’s at work. 

Because they’re not seeing _him –_ shy, introverted Ren who has no clue what horses rode him to participate in all this – but rather the promising young male who wants the job like everyone else and therefore has to pose and work for it to get even a _chance._

So does just that, tries and fails and tries and fails and tries until he gets it to forcefully _click_ in some sort of provisional way so that Ren can move in front of a camera without growing embarrassed or feeling so self-conscious to the point where he’s messing everything up. 

He plans on sticking to only one agency that would commission him somewhat regularly, but Takamaki is quick to tell him off. 

“Don’t limit yourself to _one_ \- models can take as many agencies as they want. Exclusive contracts come later. Every agency you decline is an opportunity missed.”

Ren’s still living with Sojiro in the attic – the money he gets from the shoots he does is alright, for the lack of a better word, but he still works at Rafflesia to make sure he has enough money in his savings. 

It’s good for his Instagram and Twitter, too. People like flowers and coffee shops and the ambition to become more than that apparently, according to his five hundred followers at least.

It still feels a little surreal, especially because it’s only been two months since Ren bumped into Takamaki. 

The short lifes soap bubbles live. The fever dreams on a hot night he thinks he's going to wake up from, but doesn’t.

It evolves so rapidly, from one moment into the next that Ren feels like he's chasing his own shadow. 

But the time comes where the agency Ren gets booked most from suggests he moves closer to Tokyo’s center.

To start building an image that doesn’t entail a run-down café in Yongen Jaya, as charming as it was.

Most of the modeling classes he still has to undertake are there too. Moving to Shibuya means he would save time when going to appointments – not much, but from Takamaki he knows that later on, every minute he spares will have its worth.

“You should go,” Futaba suggests.

It’s a late evening in LeBlanc, both sitting at the counter with a steaming plate of curry Sojiro made for them.

“Shibuya is expensive,” Ren retorts, fiddling with a spoon.

He isn't really hungry with all the thoughts swimming inside of his head, demanding attention. Shibuya is absolutely not far away from Yongen Jaya – maybe a twenty minute ride, thirty minutes at best if the trains are full and there’s chaos.

But the notion of leaving something as familiar as LeBlanc, something so _safe_ doesn’t sit well with him.

“You’ve been saving up.”

“And what if I don’t make it there?” Ren counters. 

To his own surprise, he realizes he actually doubts that a little. 

He’s signed with several agencies as of now, not just the one that told him to move, and they all regularly commission him and match him with interested clients. 

His portfolio changes and grows, just like his reputation. There’s always the fear of not making it though, of not being enough, of overestimating himself, and it’s breathing down his neck like a chained animal waiting for the missing key.

Or for a particular part in the metal to grow rusty. 

“Then you come back,” Sojiro grunts, briefly looking up from his current task of cleaning some mugs. “It’s as simple as that.”

Ren's stomach drops, and he opens his mouth to retort but Futaba and Sojiro know him too well by now, cutting him off before he can say anything.

“Don’t use _us_ as an argument. We’ll still call you, and you will still come visit us.” Sojiro’s stern voice softens a little to match his surprisingly gentle expression. “You act like you’re moving to the other end of Japan with no chance of success. You should prioritize your own life for once.”

“If you want to make us happy,” Futaba adds with a wistful smile, “then go do what you want, alright? No holding back.”

Ren snaps his mouth shut.

Is that what he wants?

Modeling?

Truthfully, he still doesn’t know, and Sojiro’s and Futaba’s insistent gazes are almost making it worse.

But Ren’s getting better at it, at least. 

And he thinks – why not?

He doesn’t have much to lose.

Only a train ride would part him to his first step of actual independence, and if he really doesn't make it...

Ren needs only to look into their smiling faces and knows he’ll always has a home to come back to. 

* * *

He moves to Shibuya a month later, having found a small, cramped apartment that isn’t too overpriced. Something Futaba may or may not have had a hand in.

He’d like to scold her, but the relief at not having to pay a ridiculously overpriced sum for something even _smaller_ prevents him from doing so.

Ren preorders Futaba a high quality figma of a limited Red Hawk summer edition that's going to come out, and ships Sojiro expensive beans from Morocco and Brazil.

He makes a mental note to make that a regular occurrence because while Sojiro chides Ren for spending money on him, he quickly transitioned to monologues of how wonderful and interesting the new blends are, which is basically the telltale sign that Sojiro _loves_ them and Ren should absolutely not stop despite what Sojiro is saying.

It’ll be a dent in his wallet, even with his slightly increased budget, but Ren wants to show more than just his appreciation for Sojiro taking him in, thank him for all the years he took care of him, for _entrusting_ him with something as fragile as his daughter.

Leaving hurt, but it opened Ren for new things.

Such as the heart of Tokyo.

And one might think Ren already explored Shibuya and all the cities around small and domestic Yongen Jaya – but the truth is, Ren _didn’t._

His experience is essentially limited to Shibuya's train station, and _that_ is already enough of a horror scenario he's thrown into for most days in the week that he stays away from similar experiences. 

Whereas every child liked to play outside and visit their friends in arcades, Ren stayed in what was the most familiar to him after losing his parents: LeBlanc.

And Sojiro let him, taught him how to brew coffee and make curry instead of forcing him to do something he didn't want to.

So finally living in the middle where life _flourishes_ is... something completely new. 

Center Tokyo is exhilarating and scary and exciting all at once. Ren isn’t used to this many people bustling around him like clouds tightly wobbling around each other with seemingly no room of escape. 

It feels even more intense than when he's squeezed inside the confines of a train, and Ren would have probably frozen up at the masses of bodies completely if he hadn’t already started learning to deal with more than one person given his occupation.

He doesn’t fit in, Ren thinks. At least not appearance wise. For all his modeling he did, his wardrobe remained rather questionable, his confidence still only something he could apply in front of the lens, not outside of it. Even then he messes up regularly, something that naturally throws him even more out of the loop before he gets a forceful grip on himself.

As if having a sixth sense for recognizing strangers or new people, some individuals in the streets of Tokyo like to point and stare at times.

Maybe it’s because of his lack of glasses. Ren hasn’t worn them since a few weeks now, trying to get used to _not_ having a one-way psychological barrier, but he does plan on getting decorative ones in the future again.

Maybe fancier ones. Futaba always told him round frames would suit his angular face more.

For now, Ren concentrates on settling in – there are new neighbors in his apartment to internally scream at, new ways to the shops and train stations to take.

Different prices, different people, a different lifestyle.

A whole new _world,_ even if Ren only moved twenty minutes away.

Tokyo never sleeps, and Ren gets little anyway because his jobs slowly grow a little more important, moving from small, niche ads to some magazine shoots one would find in the furthest corner of a kiosk.

Ren’s still too much of a newbie to be working with Takamaki, but she directs him to Shiho upon learning he finally moved – an independent modeling agent that coordinates younger models and focuses on clothing catalogs. She’s cold at first, a stern vision of blue hair accompanied by a strong gaze. The first time Ren talks with her in Starbucks he feels like a pinned butterfly put on display solely for her. 

Only towards the end of their first coffee does she warm up significantly, as if the whole conversation up until then has been a test. 

“You have a style in you,” she says, vaguely pointing at him. “Your clothes are still a bit… off, so to say, but that look in your eyes. You hide your nervousness and insecurities well if you make an effort.”

Shiho breaks out in a grin that lights her whole face.

“I look forward to working with you.”

And that’s that.

They always breach the line between friends and work relationship, but Ren hasn’t minded thus far. She takes more money out of contracts she negotiates than Ren is used to, but she’s doing a good job, steering him away from shadier jobs and putting a firm hand on his shoulder when Ren is hesitant to decline an offer or negotiate the price of a commission.

“You need to learn when to bend and when to be persistent and when to say no.”

“But declining them means rejecting them.”

“Good agencies want someone who is resilient, Ren. Not someone who is easily malleable. Those break the fastest under the pressure of the modeling industry.”

She gives him some clothes from time to time as rewards for doing well – a cropped jacket, cargo pants, or an oversized, striped shirt with a dangerously low cut she insists would look amazing at him.

Ren wears it once, but upon seeing his reflection, shyness immediately overcoms him and he promptly buries the clothing article in the bottom of his closet – for another time, he promises himself.

When he's grown more into the model he's trying to become. 

Shiho also introduces him to a personal trainer – Ryuji, someone who’ll organize a new workout schedule that’ll focus on Ren’s lithe body type. 

“I also teach Yoga,” Ryuji reveals after their first workout session together.

Sweating and gasping and _dying_ for breath, Ren thinks he doesn’t even like the idea of Yoga, but Ryuji's grin is positively contagious and so open that he agrees. 

The sight of Ryuji’s expression lighting up like the sun makes it almost worth it. He probably doesn’t get a lot of people in his yoga class. To be fair, Ryuji also doesn’t really look like the typical person who’d be invested in Yoga, giving his finely chiseled body. 

(Ren ends up liking Yoga a little too much because it's doing a frighteningly good job at calming him down after a day full of stress.)

His schedule becomes fuller and more distinctive. After his usual coordinated morning workout at home, Ren barely has time to make his own coffee anymore. He usually gets it in coffee shops when he’s meeting with Shiho to discuss upcoming castings or grabs one on his way to an appointment.

But it’s not like he’s a fully established model in the industry everyone is interested in about yet - and since Ren is still trying to make a name for himself people will recognize, he has more time in the evening than others do, and while his shoots last _long,_ they usually never occupy an entire day. 

Fitting, makeup and hair is always a hassle to sit through because the process can take hours. His first hair stylists used to complain about the unyielding nature of his hair, but all the products and processes it already endured managed to tame it into permanent soft waves of black that are more manageable than the overly wild curls from before. Ren only has to use a hair mask twice a week to maintain that.

Another advantage Ren has is that they never need much time with make up – he knows from the few shoots where he worked with other models that a good portion of time is usually spent solely on that. 

“You’re lucky to have such flawless skin,” they always tell him, admiring and envious at once.

Ren’s actually started to adapt some sort of skin care routine – nothing very fancy, but one that would preserve the youth and glow in his face and prevent it from becoming dry and flaked. Naturally flawless skin can only help so much against murderous attacks of make-up, Shiho tells him. 

It’s a little annoying at first, standing fifteen extra minutes in the bathroom because he has to apply what feels like three different layers to his skin in ten different ways and his head still swarms from the terms he’s sure every girl knows in her sleep, but he learns from Ann that her routine takes close to thirty minutes, some others close to an hour and he immediately stops complaining.

The only thing the stylists always need to hide are his eye bags – which they always complain about, but it’s not like Ren can sleep when he has to hurry from one end to Tokyo to another, staying up hours and hours and hours in front of the camera. Even on his days off he doesn’t sleep in – can’t afford to, really.

On those days and free evenings Ren either unwinds with yoga, dancing routines, or by putting extra effort into cooking a healthy meal. Ren’s always cared about what he eats, much to the chagrin of Sojiro, but Ryuji also created a meal plan for him – it preserves Ren’s preference for vegetables, adds and removes some other things while also putting more focus on proteins that’ll sustain him despite the smaller portions he has to equally divide over the day.

Just like with coffee, it’s a lot of fun to experiment and see what fits and what doesn’t.

Most evenings though Ren has to attend classes that Shiho books for him – the agencies demand a specific amount of training from his side, seeing as he has little modeling experience.

Deportment for his posture and way of carrying himself. Etiquette, even make-up. A class which he is more or less thankful for since there are not always make-up stylists to do the work for him, and the first few times he had to get ready by himself ended in a near disaster, forcing another model to take pity on him so he doesn’t fling the opportunity out simply because he doesn’t know how to apply make-up on himself. 

Ramp work is especially challenging, mainly because Ren didn’t initially anticipate there would be so many ways to walk and turn and showcase depending on what outfit you wore. The teachers are strict and harsh, but Ren’s always been a quick learner, soaks up information like a sponge that earns him praise and acknowledgment as long as he plays up his confident side.

But it _drains_ him _._

Ren never gets proper rest – he falls exhausted to bed and wakes up barely feeling any better. He has to be on his best behavior all of the times or he doesn’t get booked – even if he wants to spit directors into their faces and break other models’ necks, Ren has to smile and smirk and grin and laugh through it all and pretend he doesn’t want to be in his bed to sleep for an entire month after killing everyone in the room.

He’s never learned how murderous his thoughts can be until this moment. 

Modeling is a constant learning curve that throws more shit his way the seemingly better he becomes. Just when Ren thinks he did a good job, there’s always something to improve, always something to think about that keeps him awake for what's left of his sleep. 

Review, review, review. What can he do better? How can he improve? 

Is his social awkwardness still apparent? Can people _see_ how he's still sometimes tricking himself into doing what other people demand from him so he doesn’t _falter?_

Ren comes close to a breakdown once or twice. It’s too much at times. Already there is an incomprehensible amount of pressure weighing on his shoulders, all the expectations gradually wearing him down, dismantling him from the inside out. Ren isn’t used to all the superficial attention people give him that manages to feel this _deep_ at the same time.

The modeling industry is brutally honest, but makes you remember the _brutality_ of it the most.

There’s so much to do, so much to constantly be aware of every single second. Ren feels like he’s pushing a boulder up a mountain most of the time, just like Sisyphus, but lacking the strength first and foremost.

Will the boulder push him back down, or will he prevail?

Ren doesn’t know.

But he refuses to come back to Sojiro empty handed. Defeated.

Fuck, at times he _still_ feels like he isn’t living by his own since he’s checking in on Futaba and LeBlanc way too much than his slight homesickness can justify.

He wants to _live,_ to make Sojiro and Futaba proud. And with knowledge that the first years are the hardest and will drain him the most, Ren pulls through with gritted teeth and bloody crescent imprints on his palm.

Even if it hurts, even if he has to blink back tears, even if he wants to be _alone_ in a crowd of people.

It’s the first mountain he has to conquer. More will follow, but if Ren withstands this – he knows it won’t get easier, but he himself will grow sturdier.

Ren will _grow_ and hit a point where he gets used to this.

He’s earning decent money now, at least, and while trying to cope with everything and getting used to the shitshow that is modeling, his whole sense of living, including fashion, finally shifts into a more distinctive direction he feels comfortable with for the first time in his life. 

Like something is _finally_ starting to calm down and settle in.

Cheap brands get replaced by few, but expensive pieces of quality. Clothes where people recognize from afar that he’s in a different class. And where people used to turn their head, some now stand and outwardly point at his sleek coats and teasingly loose shirts tucked into shiny slacks.

Ren isn’t quite there yet with his sense of fashion, but he’s _getting_ there.

He still doesn’t feel at ease with the exposure he has, the eyes on him. Offline and online. Ren doesn’t think he ever will. But he starts to get more resistant as the months fly by and the niche photo shoots move to editorial fashion ones, clients looking more important. 

His followers grow with Ren’s confidence, now capping at nearly twenty thousand.

Ren does end up breaking down twice.

Once during a photo shoot where the photographer is too harsh with his words and Ren too sensitive, the other time with Shiho in a bathroom because his make up didn’t sit and his clothes didn’t fit despite the measurements and nothing worked that day, throwing him into a temporary spiral of desperate madness. 

It doesn’t get easier, but it gets more manageable.

And the first time a shy girl surrounded by giggling school mates stops him in the middle of the street, recognizing him despite his mask and asking for an autograph on the cover of a lesser known magazine he is on, his exhausted smile turns into a smirk and he says yes.

* * *

Ren’s been visiting LeBlanc less and less, but neither Sojiro or Futaba seem to mind too much. On the contrary, they seem to be even happier, and Ren doesn’t know if it’s because the larger period of time that’s passing or because they insist he’s looking happier and more attractive than ever.

Well, Ren wouldn’t really say he’s _happy,_ but he’s ambitious and determined and curious what the future will hold. 

He's too deep into everything to stop now anyway. 

“Do you know Akechi?” Futaba suddenly asks from behind the counter, the small of her tongue poking out in a show of concentration.

Because Ren isn't around to help anymore, Sojiro’s apparently been trying to teach her how to brew again with very… mild success. Ren has to suppress his base instincts to not jump over the counter and do it himself.

He’s focused on his small laptop anyway, trying to understand what his next client wants from him – something with Surrealism and Dali and commercials for watches - that he misses the name she so casually mentioned. 

“Who?”

Ren looks up from his screen and adjusts his glasses. A habit he's never grown out of, despite his period without any frame sitting on the bridge of his nose. 

Futaba sighs. “Akechi Goro. A rising star. Just like you. He appeared quite a lot on my timeline recently, which is full of models thanks to a certain someone.“

Ren makes a face she doesn’t see because she's too concentrated on her task. It’s not like he’s _telling_ her to stalk him on his social media, but Futaba likes to keep tabs on him. 

And actually the name _does_ sound familiar to him.

Maybe Ren scrolled past posts mentioning him, or actually heard his name drop a few times on TV. 

“Well, maybe not a star," Futaba continues. "You two are like… mhm, flying twinkles?”

“You’re a flying twinkle,” Ren scoffs back because he’s creative.

She looks up to him, glancing intently over the rim of her glasses for the effect only to drop her gaze back down again.

“You’re the twink out of us both.”

“Futaba,” Ren groans. "Really?"

Unapologetic snickers follow. “Sorry. For real, though. I know we’ve always been telling you to be more confident and serious in your modeling, but you’ve been working a lot recently. We call less, too. I hope you made some friends in Shibuya to make up for that?”

She's one to talk.

Deciding to humor her nonetheless, Ren goes over the faces that flash in his mind.

Ann and Shiho definitely count despite the streak of professionalism running through the women, but Futaba already knows about them. He hasn’t talked much about Ryuji despite them regularly meeting for work outs and dinner afterwards. The blonde ball of energy is definitely someone he’d consider his friend though, always a joke and words of encouragement on his lips when Ren feels down. 

Does... Hifumi count? Ren's seen her enough times at shoots to get somewhat acquainted, but they've never really interacted past that. 

Probably not.

“Yeah,” Ren finally says, less confidentially than he’d like. “I did.”

Futaba hears right through him, raising an eyebrow.

“Not even fuckbuddies?”

Ren rolls his eyes and resists the urge to tell her that he's _really_ busy and that Ryuji already has a boyfriend and Shiho… well, even if, she’s gay too. Not even pity fucking would work.

“No, I don’t.”

Futaba wrinkles her nose. If it’s because of the rather questionable smell that’s started to go through LeBlanc or because of his answer, Ren doesn’t know, but whatever Futaba is doing, he can't stand watching it any longer.

"God, Futaba. You're actually managing to burn coffee- here, let me help you."

On the train ride back to his apartment with a face mask pushed up into his face, Ren opens the internet browser on his phone to kill some time.

Akechi, huh?

He inserts the name into the search bar.

Pictures immediately greet him - pretty face, pretty eyes that look like they can glare effectively, too. 

Unless it's all dictated by the agencies, they have a similar taste in clothes. Or in colors at least, Ren chuckles to himself, looking over the mostly black and white color scheme his fans regularly catch him dressed in.

Ren checks Akechi's Instagram and Twitter next. Nearly identical follower number, with around a three thousand difference between the two of them with Ren being at a disadvantage. He also notices that Akechi rarely shows his face in the pictures he posts.

Maybe that’s the appeal, playing smokes and mirrors. Unsurprisingly, the ones with his face on have the most interaction and attention. 

Ren's breath stutters as he’s hovering over a picture that showcases Akechi in a simple, white dress-shirt. Rolled up sleeves, tie loose, background and gaze dark enough to stimulate the brain to go into a certain direction without being purposefully suggestive. 

Ren suddenly realizes that Akechi’s the closest to a type he has. 

A type Ren didn’t know he had until now. 

Spending a few minutes calming his heart - it's just _one_ picture, Ren, you've seen far worse - the temptation to look for Akechi's name in YouTube begins to take hold of him. 

Though Ren exerts self-control and puts his phone away before he tumbles into a spiral he'll never get out of. 

He sighs, leaning his head against the cool window to watch colorful lights and darkness play tag. 

Idly Ren wonders if they're ever going to have the same photo shooting together. 

* * *

**6 Months later**

* * *

Goro’s enjoying a vegan chocolate cake and a triple venti half-sweet non-fat caramel macchiato the barista hopefully got right for once (his orders aren’t _that_ complicated), watching pathetic people live unfulfilled lives when his phone chimes. 

He sighs and contemplates for a split second if he should pick up _after_ taking a sip of his coffee or _before,_ and then realizes enough time already passed simply by thinking about the choice so he puts it down. 

Goro adjusts his sunglasses and as he fishes his phone out of his puffy, striped jacket, not bothering to look at the ID. 

“Akechi Goro here?” Goro politely says.

“Goro,” Sae’s voice rings. 

He instantly drops all pleasantries. Playing ten watt teeth commercial model when the other person can’t even see him is fucking exhausting.

Sae called him before his next meeting which would - he stretches his arm to take a look at his wrist - take place in about two hours, and that either means the agency postponed the photo shoot or something came up at the last minute.

Both scenarios don't happen often, but when they do, Goro can sometimes even go back to his apartment and test out another protein morning mix shake which he hopes will finally replace the tedious need for actual breakfast successfully. 

Which is why Goro’s a little less annoyed and doesn't answer with his usual grunt. 

“Yes?”

“Mika had to drop out,” Sae reveals. There’s a constant rumbling sound in the background, which suggests she's in a car to god knows where. It’s not like he’s her only client, though Goro prides himself to be her main one. “Suddenly got sick.”

Well, not what he initially expected, but something that doesn’t catch him entirely off guard either. 

It’s a mild setback. Goro doesn’t dislike working with Mika because she learned early not to throw himself at him, but he also can’t quite say he’s fond of her. The way she hides her insecurities behind layers of make-ups and sweet words is too obvious. One would think she learned being more subtle over the years in the industry, like Goro did.

“Since you didn’t mention any postponing, I assume the shooting isn't cancelled,” Goro drawls, finally taking a sip from his macchiato.

He scrunches his nose. Still too sweet. Incompetent workers.

Should he leave a corresponding review? He can’t, not with his reputation. Anonymous then? Hope for the responsible worker to be fired and replaced by someone that might actually be competent in their craft?

“Who are they gonna send for replacement? Hifumi? Togo?” Goro asks. “If they are available, that is.”

Maybe he should order another one. Or go for a different order because apparently this one is too hard for human standards. 

“Not a female," Sae remarks. 

This makes him pause for a brief second.

Pulled out of his musings, Goro exhales and leans back. 

“Male? I thought this was going to be a partner shooting.”

“They changed it to solo shoots only, no couple ones. Be glad for it." Sae's voice raises with faint amusement towards the end of the sentence. 

Goro hums absentmindedly. “I suppose.”

It actually _is_ nice. Posing with other people usually means posing with other girls and posing with other girls means proximity which he absolutely loathes.

Not because Goro hasn’t gotten accustomed to that, but rather because of the flirting that would ensue afterwards.

For some reason or another, most are prone to the illusion of thinking him being close during the photo shoot automatically translates to him being personally interested, completely disregarding any sorts of professionalism.

As if Goro’s leaning close and hovering above them because he _wants_ to, not because he's making cold cash because of it. 

Goro recalls his commission. A casual clothing catalogue shoot for an established brand. Nothing small, nothing big. An appetizer for the coat line he has to do tomorrow.

“Do you know who it is?” Goro asks, merely to keep the conversation afloat. 

He’s actually not that interested, but feels like he should know regardless. 

“They’re still selecting, but I’ll let give you the name as soon as I know it," Sae answers. 

Well, there can’t be that many options when the photo shoot is in about two hours.

Maybe he should go for hot chocolate instead?

As stylists crowd around him, trying to achieve ten things at once with his face and hair, Goro overhears someone saying the other model will arrive mid-shooting. 

He forgets about it as soon as he’s ushered before the camera, only to be immediately pulled back – his hair is put into a ponytail, the hair tie gets changed, and then someone lets his strands fall freely around his face again. 

Despite it being a fixed set of clothing he has to model for, Goro’s jeans change colors two times, his flannel shirt is replaced by a polo shirt before the director shouts it’s _wrinkled_ and _off_ and they put him in a long sleeved shirt instead. 

All before the first photo is even taken, though Goro lets it happen with a patience he was forced to accumulate throughout the years. 

The set he will pose in consists of a living room section, light wood and green accents in the form of plants or books being the main components. 

Combined with Goro’s simple outfit, it’s far from glorious in comparison to the more refined clients he’s already worked with. 

But even then he makes it _work;_ giving the simplest of activities like sitting and standing and _breathing_ something incomprehensibly more meaningful. 

And _that’s_ the art of modeling. Making something casual look anything but, enticing people to _buy_ and then make them question why the clothes don’t look as good on them as on him. 

“Wonderful as always, Akechi-san! Could you tilt- yes, yes! Perfect, that’s it.”

But halfway through his usual routine, Goro notices something is off.

Or rather, something is _different._ The subtle change of an air current, an additional trinket on a clustered table. 

Quickly letting his eyes roam over the set and the equipment that takes up at least a good half of the large room, he soon locates the source.

Gray flashes from beneath curls of dark hair.

Goro’s used to all kinds of stares, but this one feels… different.

He can’t discern how or why just yet. It’s not like he currently has the time to look properly anyway, not when two people are fiddling with his accessory again and another employee is discussing with the director whether to change some parts of the background or not. 

It’s only when they’re evaluating pictures they took for comparison and reference that Goro gets the opportunity to realign their gazes again, though now the newcomer isn’t looking at him anymore - how can he, the same stylists that worked on Goro earlier now crowding around him?

Goro recognizes him anyway. 

Amamiya Ren.

20, born in Inaba, orphan, aspiring model that started a little later than Goro did. 

Once in a week or so he would allow himself to browse Amamiya’s social media. Merely because it has come to his attention that they tend to do similar jobs, just for different agencies. It’s not necessarily a real competition that they’re having, especially if they haven’t interacted once, but Goro still feels like there’s a silent challenge underneath it all. 

Admittedly, Goro likes what they have, even though Amamiya may not be aware of what Goro takes out of their not-really-relationship. It brings a little bit of excitement into his strict routine, encourages Goro to try and do even better past his usual perfectionism without feeling overly stressed to do so. 

Goro’d been mildly surprised when Sae texted him Amamiya’s name during his way to the shooting, but he also knows that Amamiya is living somewhere in the center of Tokyo, just like him. 

Which means Amamiya conveniently had a free schedule, was around Tokyo at that time, _and_ received the offer from their client specifically.

Well, Goro’s surprised they didn’t meet earlier. 

He just can’t decide if the aspect of facing Amamiya personally for the first time would fuel his curiosity into a fire or reduce the simmering flames into disappointing embers.

Someone puts a soft, mint green cardigan on him. It pulls Goro out of his musings, and he flashes an autonomous smile towards the camera next and empties his thoughts to properly concentrate on what he came here for. 

Another hour passes before Goro’s finally released with the usual choir of praise and claps echoing after him. 

He sees Amamiya approaching in his peripheral vision as he leaves the set. 

Goro’s faster, holding out his hand with a polite smile. “I’m Akechi Goro,” he says and makes sure to flash a little bit of his teeth, to cock his head in a way that bangs shift over his eyes in what’s often depicted as a mysterious manner.

A flash of insecurity tumbles over the other’s previously neutral face. Goro wonders how long it took Amamiya to take other people's hands without flinching. The small slip up would have gone unnoticed for most, but Goro prides himself in reading every whim of his client and director. 

That ability naturally preserves outside of camera work to everyone else he encounters as well.

Though Goro gets a softer smile in return than he anticipated. Amamiya’s eyes gain a certain glint Goro automatically dislikes because he can’t quite discern it and Amamiya shouldn't be this put together when people usually stumble over themselves at even _receiving_ attention from him. 

“Amamiya Ren,” the other says, flashing an uplift of his lips as he takes Goro's hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Goro tightens his grip and is immediately met with the same response. 

“Likewise," he lilts.

Their encounter ends rather anticlimactic because two hair stylists swarm Amamiya, pulling him back to fix whatever curl they thought looks misplaced before either of them could utter another word out.

On his way to the small changing room, the light tingles refuse to leave Goro’s hand.

How peculiar. 

He gets rid of the sensation by dragging his palm across the rough material of his jeans. Changing into his usual black shirt and slinging his jacket over his shoulder, Goro debates for an entire minute whether he should leave his hair as it is or tie it up into a ponytail again until he eventually settles for the latter. 

Outside the changing room, Goro can’t help but linger behind the lighting equipment. 

Technically he’s free to go, though something compels him to stay. Probably the need to see how Amamiya is doing in the same position as him with his own eyes. 

So Goro retreats into a corner where most of the shooting equipment isn’t blocking his view, and observes.

Longer than expected.

There’s an air around Amamiya – he looked soft and approachable earlier, with his large eyes and gentle face, almost meek. The widening of his eyes and the hitch of a breath when Goro introduced himself merely accounted to that. 

But now, Amamiya is vastly different. 

The air of uncertainty around him is gone - practiced confidence wraps around him like a heavy coat as he adapts various poses to showcase the simple graphic shirt he’s wearing. 

Were Amamiya’s eyes this distinctive before? 

Goro doesn’t need to change his own personality too much on set. He becomes sharper, cleaner, gives natural confidence a specific shape with conscious instruction. He commands with his eyes and directs with his body, keeping a certain type of control even when the editors and directors are the one to move him into different positions. 

Amamiya, however, changes almost completely. Maybe it’s a subconscious process since he doesn’t look awkward or out of place during the smaller breaks. 

It’s… interesting to see, for the lack of a better word. 

How Amamiya is a different person and yet the same. Smooths lines hardening, edges that previously went unnoticed becoming prominent in return. 

When the last scene finishes and the spell around Amamiya breaks, Goro’s eyes snap to his watch.

6PM. 

6 _fucking_ PM. 

He could have been gone from here for two hours already, and yet he stood and watched and… _lost_ himself in someone’s gaze and body that wasn’t even directed at him like a teenage girl just saw her biggest unrequited celebrity crush in front of her. 

Pathetic. 

Goro suddenly feels the urge to still go back on writing an anonymous and very polite review to the cafe from this morning. 

This was Goro’s only appointment for today, but now he’s actually behind on his usual routine because of _this_ and Goro’s really tempted to pull at his hair if not for the fact he spends a tremendous amount of time taking care of it. 

Before he can deign to disappear from the set like he originally planned to, Amamiya’s already making his way over. 

And how _wonderful -_ Amamiya obviously sensed his eyes on him, meaning he noticed that Goro didn’t leave and is most likely pulling all the wrong conclusions. 

He grits his teeth, irritated at himself, but more irritated at Amamiya for being so weirdly distracting in the first place. 

“A shame they ended up canceling the partner shoots,” Goro conversionally says when the other is close enough. “You were quite good.”

 _Not better than me, but respectable nonetheless._ Goro can admit that much. 

“Thank you. You didn’t need to stay,” Amamiya remarks, curling a strand of hair around his finger in a way that Goro involuntarily follows the movement with his eyes. 

He snaps back, irritated. 

Amamiya says it like Goro _wanted_ to. And he doesn’t even mention that Goro alluded to wanting to _work_ with him, even if it was only for a coincidental partner shoot. 

Models either soak up his praise or deny it in a way that makes it obvious they actually want the opposite. Or _rudely_ brush him off, believing themselves too superior to associate with him in spite of themselves. 

Obviously Amamiya doesn’t belong to the latter category because they’re still talking with each other, but he doesn’t fall into the first ones either.

So what _is_ Amamiya?

Goro can’t tell, not now. 

He needs more evidence.

And he doesn’ know _why_ he needs more evidence when they’ve barely exchanged a handful of words, but there’s this urge to _dismantle_ whatever Amamiya’s made of welling up from _somewhere_ within Goro. 

Quickly making up his mind, he shifts his weight before cocking his head in a charming, but also inquisitive manner. “This may be a bit sudden, but do you perhaps want to-”

“Sorry,” Amamiya suddenly cuts him off. 

Somehow managing to sound like he interrupted Goro by accident. 

Amamiya's eyebrows furrow as he bashfully rubs his neck next, the material of his loose shirt following the movement to reveal delicate collar bones. “It was nice meeting you, Akechi-san. I really have to catch a meeting though, so... see you next time?” 

A blinding smile follows. 

And then Amamiya brushes past him to head for the changing rooms and Goro’s left standing at the set with an invitation for dinner on the tip of his tongue. 

Goro’s _never_ left standing at the set like that. 

Goro’s never fucking invited someone to dinner either, not even Sae.

If he’s muttering curses under his breath on his entire way back, it’s only for his terrified uber driver to know. 

* * *

**★☆☆☆☆ anonymous, 01:11AM, SY**

_my coffee was terrible and therefore led to a horrendous day. i sincerely regret setting foot inside this cafe and would advise for mishima, the one who took and worked on my order, to be fired due to his painstakingly obvious incompetence. will not visit again._

**Author's Note:**

> Of course Ren has a pretty ideal and not so realistic career path into modeling, but dear god if I'd make it realistic I'd get _nowhere_ in this fic. This is also supposed to be some mindless world- and relationship building between Goro and Ren so please do not look too hard haha.
> 
> I really hope I can do you justice with this Lolo! This chapter was to set the stage - the next one will be very interaction heavy, so please anticipate it ♥
> 
> [My (mostly) Akeshu twitter!](https://twitter.com/voraciousTash)


End file.
